A Mother's Day Retrospective: Part III

Determined to put the week's emotional roller coaster behind me, I decided I would forget about the floor cleaner, disregard the conflict over the frames, and move forward with the business of being a wife and mother.

Unfortunately, some greater force had decided that would just not be possible.

As my son enjoyed his morning nap and my daughter played quietly in the family room, I took advantage of the household calm by taking the breakfast dishes to task. The day was clear, my thoughts were wandering, and Mother's Day was a distant memory.

Then, I heard a slight commotion coming from the room where my daughter had been playing. I peered around the wall to check on things and was surprised to find the discovery of her newest toy.

The Hoover box.

Bored with the billions of toys that overwhelm our downstairs, my daughter had found the universally enjoyable entertainment of a big carboard box. I sat down on the floor beside her to watch her curiosity at work.

She gleefully tossed the limitless styrofoam, she played peekaboo with the flexible flaps, and she hopped in and out of the deep box. By the time she was asking for a ride, my eyes had fixed on the image of the woman happily mopping her floor with the Hoover craft. Her thrilled expression seemed to suggest that there was no greater enjoyment to be had than cleaning, and her face annoyed the hell out of me.

The boil returned.

I decided I could not stand it anymore. It needed to be returned.

The decision to act felt good and, with a flourish of energy, I searched the box for a return label. Not quite sure how I would disassenble the machine or fit it back in the box, I was having enough trouble even locating a return address.

And that's when I saw it- the point of sale was not some distant retailer. It was Home Depot.

I blanched.

He decided to get me a Mother's Day gift. He decided to get me something he thought I would really like. And he decided that Home Depot was where he would find it????

Lumber for a deck, yes. Shelving for a new custom closet, yes. Decoravtive ceramic tile, sure.

But a floor cleaner.

Forget proper reassembly, I angrily threw the entire cleaner in the box, which meant only half was completely in, while the rest poked out in triumph. I stuck styrofoam, cardboard positioners, and the always helpful grout scrubber attachment wherever I could find an opening and tossed it into the trunk of my car. Since my husband had also filled it with cleaning solution for ready-use, that would be returned right along with it.

My daughter, sensing an adventure, gleefully put on her froggy boots as I waited for my little guy to awake.

Flash forward 30 minutes and I and my two charges are bounding through the Home Depot parking lot. The Hoover, still only partially in the box, is sulking in the cart while my son sits in front squealing with delight and my daughter marches in step with me, pleased to be up to something she will not get in trouble for.

The automatic doors part as the flourescent lights and smell of wood and mulch greet our senses. I do a quick survey to find the designated area for returns, and make my way to the desk.

As we march, styrofoam is beginning to break free as a trail of cleaning fluid leaks from the box, marking our path. I park the cart in all its disaster in front of the desk and smile as I meet the cashier's eyes.

Oksana looks at my cart, at me, and then back at the cart with more than a little apprehension.

"Hi, I need to return this...this." I manage to hold my smile as I hoist the mechanism onto the table for returns, all while pretending not to notice the puddle slowly growing beneath.

"Oh, is there something wrong with it?"

"Yes...it's a Mother's Day gift".

She blinks.

Not sure what to do, she walks over to the table to inspect the box and scan the SKU number. I am still smiling to make sure she knows I think there is nothing wrong with the way in which I am presenting it for return.

"Okay, but is there anything else wrong with it."

"No. You just need to take it back".

"Oh, okay." I watch her eyes scan the proximity, clearing searching for the help of a manager or a security guard as my smile remains frozen.

She starts to ask for the receipt, but I quickly cut her off to let her know that merchandise credit would be just fine and so, she dutifully prints out the return slip along for a certificate of credit.

I walked out of the store, still smiling as I clutch the small red card with only one thought it mind...

It will fit perfectly inside a Father's Day card.